The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1887-02-23

pace. Redoubled yells, continual flights
of arrows assailed us as we tore on-so
swiftly, indeed. that to my excited fancy
the prairie seemed to sink beneath US, and
we were flying through the atr. A glance
over my shoulder gladdened me with hope;
our flight was fast distancing our pursuers;
their cries had grown fainter-the arrows
did not reach us. The sun had set, bat a
fiery glow was spread half TO the zenith,
when drew rein. Not q savage was in
sight; We were saved. / dismounted, and
helped my precious charge to the ground.
She lay passive in my arms; she had
tainted. Carefully l laid her down. and
famed her with my hat till she revived.
She Enclosed her eyes and sighed, but no
color came back to her cheek.
Poor father" she murmured, "they have
killed him and-and-I am dreadfully
hurt"
To my horror and distress, now saw
that an arrow had entered her side. took
her hands, and my tears fell on them.
You cannot help me-" she whispered.
You have been so good to me-and so
brave! 1 am not leaving you forever-O,
no! Some time some time"
Her faint accents failed as 1 bent low to
hear them.
The rudy glow of the western heavens
still family lighted the somber prairie
when scouting-party from the fort
reached the spot. The horse was quietly
cropping the short grass near by; l was
kneeling by the beautiful dead child, hold
ing her tear-wet hands.
An event like that just described, occur
ring to an ardent and generous youth of
twenty, will inevitably produce powerful
impression. So it was with me. Davenant,
though much older than l, was my dearest
friend. He was widower; Minnie was his
only child; and we three had journeyed to
what was then the far West, for recreation
and pleasure. And this was the melan-
choly ending of our journey! Lonely and
sad, | returned to my Eastern home. So
terrible were the details of this tragedy,
and SO sacred seemed the sufferings and
the words of that dear child, that only
required to these things in my own sad
retrospection. Never, after leaving the
tort, until the occasion now to be named
had / spoken nor written of them.
In 1867 l had become thirty eight years
of age. Something then happened that
was as surprising to myself as to any OF
my acquaintance. l married n wife. 1t
was the old story: habit, preconceived opin-
ion, laps of time, all were against the
probability of such a thing; with any other
woman il would have been an impossibility
but this one
No matter; enough of this. She was
twenty years my junior, and 1t was mar
rage OF affection, pure and simple. A
glorious creature,-but enough of this, too.
And she was quite an artist; much more
than an amateur. Young as she was she
had gained a reputation; her work
was in demand; she was liv-
ing by her brush when found her
In the early days of our welded life she
delighted to show me her early work, all of
which she had carefully preserved. Unlike
most workers in the arts, she was not at all
ashamed of it; crude though it was, she
was interested in tracing the progress that
these attempts showed, and certainly it was
with real pleasure that looked them over
and listened to her explanations.
On one occasion, during our bridal trip,
while we were stopping for few days at
a seaside resort, Marian and /, accom-
panied by her favorite, Zip, pure FLOODED
Skye terrier, found a secluded nook COM
handing n view of the sea. There she
seated herself upon moss-covered rock,
with some fancy needlework to give SEM
blance of occupation, while l lazily re-
clined at her feet.
Then she resumed the subject of her
early endeavors in art, and when we had
reached the end of the collection she
seemed to hesitate, and then said:
Jasper, L have one more, little water
color, that l painted when only ten years
old. My friends called it good, and flat
tered me too much about it; but there was
one thing that makes me almost tremble
whenever / see it-that is, the way ii was
done. 1t was commenced continued, and
finished without the least idea III my head
of subject Scenery and figures were ex-
ecued Just as they occurred to me; my
hand worked almost mechanically. And,
Jasper"-she grew very serious here, and
herevoice trembled-"when / first met you,
six months ago, that picture instantly came
into my head. Your face and your voice
have always ever since reminded me OF 1t.
Strange, is it not? am not troubled about
il at all; but there is something in this curiou,
association Of yourself with that picture
that / can not understand"
She brought it to me, and, if ever the
dead shall rise before my waking vision,
shall not be more startled. The picture
was of a rudy twilight sky, boundles'
prairie, horse freely cropping the grass,
girly lying dead on the ground, and a
man kneeing beside her, holding her
hands. gazed ut it as if fascinated.
Marian" l cried, when the power of
speech returned TO me, who told you of
this subject ,"
Nobody. l painted it just as 1 told
you, without thought or design"
And you never heard nor read of an
incident that you intended to illustrate by
this ?"
Never and do not know now what it
means"
But the localty-the Western prairie
you haye seen it,
She smiled as she replied, 81 have never
been outside the State of Connecticut in
my life
Mechanically l turned the picture over
in my hand. A card was in the corner OF
the frame Marian took it out and busted
it with her handkerchief.
This l wrote when the picture was
DONE" she said. ''for a kind of name.
Don't ask me why l selected such n curl
Gus one | can no more tell you that
than why / painted the picture itself"
She held up the card to my eyes. A
sweet. sad voice fiom beyond the tomb
seemed to fill my ears as | read:
II am not IeGUiHg you forererp'
We sat in silence for n while. She saw
that was strongly moved, and she did not
disturb me; only her hand stole quietly
into mine.